The House
by zenniel
Summary: Oneshot. Andryl. – It was a house like any other but it was the one house that had managed to pull on her heartstrings; it wasn't the splendor of the place that caught her. It was what the place held. And what it meant to her.


**It's just a house. Or is it?**

The suburb was perhaps on the richer scale. When there had been a money system still. Perhaps not millions, not yet, not in this state, but the houses tucked lovingly underneath the mountain were still something to ogle at. The cars that were left sat like statues of a previous time. They were quickly looted for whatever oil might remain in them. But they, too, were higher end cars, Lamborghinis, Jaguars, Ferraris, Maseratis. Nothing she could have afforded, at least not for a while.

The houses were huge, more than five thousand square feet with two, three stories. All of them. They were magnificent, grand, and one even looked like an old-fashioned castle. There were no dead here; not even a leaf stirred in the dry summer air. The once-pristine blacktop radiated heat; she was surprised that her shoes hadn't melted to the ground yet. Everyone was sweating, but they hadn't risked bringing the vehicles here, leaving them and a few of the group below. She'd gotten to go because Rick knew how much she wanted to get away.

There were six of them, two for each house Rick said. They took turns watching one another, peeking in doorways, checking every nook and cranny where the dead might sleep. She only encountered one and had promptly thrust her knife through its head. Don't shoot; never shoot anymore unless you really had to. Shooting led to them hearing you. Sometimes she thought they even sensed fear, though recently she'd found that she didn't fear them anymore. Not like she used to.

The houses were jam packed with stuff, good stuff, useable stuff. She changed her clothes right then and there, could hear Glenn in the other room doing the same thing. It was hard at first to think that you were putting on someone else's clothes, would walk around with their scent… but that was when clothes still had a scent. Now they all just smelled… musty almost. But, oh God did these clothes feel perfect on her. Just her size and everything, even with what was growing in her stomach. Not enough to tell, not even for her. But she knew it was there, and she also knew that if she told anyone, she wouldn't have been out here trying on these 'new' clothes today. Either way, she hoped Daryl would like them.

They got so much from the first few houses that they barely needed to go to the other ones. But they had to check just in case. Weaponry was a rare find, as were cans of soup that weren't cream of mushroom or celery. Perhaps they'd even find some candy or something that wasn't hardened and yucky after all the time it had sat alone. So they pushed onward, having brought up the truck to put everything in.

The outside of the house caught her at first. It was in a dip, a sort of natural valley. The long driveway was what caught her eye first—she didn't want to be the one walking all that way—but the house held her heart. It was magnificent with a high-vaulted roof with dark mahogany wood for walls and looked like the riches log cabin anyone could ever afford. The bay window was huge and the whole place just seemed inviting. Like it was grandma's house and she was just going over for some Christmas cookies and there would be snow on the ground and there would be smoke from a fire billowing from the roof.

Except she was pretty sure grandma was dead.

"Andrea?" She became aware of her name being called and she looked over her shoulder to spy Rick. His worried expression cleared up when she noticed him, "Did you hear what I said?"

"Ah, sorry, no." Andrea said with a shrug meant to ask for forgiveness.

"I said you go with Daryl and check out that house down there. The one you were staring at." Rick said and somehow she thought he'd done that on purpose. "You up for that?"

She cast a glance at Daryl and said, "Sure."

"Daryl?" Rick prompted.

Daryl shrugged and lifted his crossbow to his shoulder. "Whatever."

"Good. We'll meet back here in an hour, sound good?" Rick asked and everyone agreed.

They broke off into their three pairs and headed off to their own houses. Andrea and Daryl walked together. It wasn't secret about their relationship now, but they weren't cuddlers and it got worse after Glenn started joking with Daryl sometimes. Now as they walked, they brushed arms and she liked feeling the tingling sensation that rode up her arms when their skin touched. She was left with a slight smile brought on both by Daryl's proximity and the splendor of the house when they finally reached the door. For a moment, even Daryl marveled at its height. Then it was over.

"The hell you waitin' for, Blondie? The 'pocalypse? Bugs Bunny?" He joked, like he always did, in his depreciating tone. She was used to it, _loved_ that part of him. She looked at him and tilted her head in a sort of 'go at it' way. He grinned haphazardly, a look that fit his face, and brushed a lock of blond hair out of her face before trying the door. It was unlocked and he swung the door inward.

* * *

Honestly, there wasn't anything in this house going for him. Sure, it was fancy-dancy and all that, but he'd never liked that stuff. It was too rich for him; these people probably had never even hunted for something a day in their lives… not even money. They were probably rich son-a-bitches who just slept on their money. But he had to admit that the inside of the house was homely enough; they didn't go overboard and in fact the inside seemed more like an old-timey log cabin than anything else.

Sure, there was a state-of-the-art television set, speakers, blah blah, but the couch was worn, the Lay-Z-Boy looked loved, and the pictures in frames were set up like there'd been some planning with the way things were laid out. But he didn't get Andrea's reaction. It was just a _house_ for God's sake. Wasn't nothing special to it.

He did the sensible thing and started looking for food. You know… things one needed for survival. He lost sight of her but knew she could handle herself. He checked the fridge first but it was as warm as it was outside and the freezer wasn't much better—everything had gone bad so long ago there wasn't a scent anymore. The pantry, however, was a whole different ballpark. The pantry was stacked with things they could take.

"Hot damn," he crowed as he opened it and looked at what the owners of the house had left for them. "Andrea! Git in here!" He called. When she didn't magically appear—why he thought she'd appear like that for him anyway—he peered over the side of the pantry door. "Andrea?"

Still nothing.

Cussing under his breath, he heaved his crossbow up and stalked through the house in search of her. It actually caught him by surprise to see what room she'd stopped in.

* * *

The room was painted a soft shade of blue at the top and on the ceiling but green grass covered the lower walls. Little wall sticker animals looked like they were playing some ball game in the green lawn. There were even flowers painted in smatters all around the room. A huge tree was painted on one side and its top extended into the ceiling. Whoever had painted the room had painted it with love.

Andrea didn't normally get emotional, not any longer. But for some reason this room brought a stinging sensation to her eyes and a catching feeling to her throat. She crossed one arm across her chest and sat the other arm on it and placed her finger on her lips. The crib was in one corner and next to it a sort of night stand that no doubt held the clothes. The changing table was in another corner and a little play mat lay in the center of the room. The baby monitor, its batteries probably long dried out, hung from the crib protectively. It had probably blared the baby's last moments out across the wireless connection to ears that either couldn't hear or to dead air.

The baby itself lay in the bed, delicate bones now ringed by the mold that formed around dead bodies. There was no way to tell what it had worn or its gender. It had never had the chance to live. It had probably cried until it fell asleep, exhausted. Then it had probably whimpered from hunger, kicking its legs frailly. Andrea didn't know if babies thought, but it probably wondered if it had been abandoned. If God was kind, He would have allowed the baby to sleep to try to keep energy and He would have allowed it to pass away quietly in its sleep.

Her stomach tumbled suddenly like it did in the mornings sometimes. Luckily, she wasn't one for _morning_ sickness, and even then, the sickness stuck only to the mornings. Despite the unpleasant feeling in her stomach, she moved forward and leaned on the crib's side, looking at the skeletal remains of the poor baby. She reached out and stroked the skull, imagining a baby's fat face there, wondering what the child had been like.

"What's up, Blondie?" Daryl asked as he entered the room. She didn't look at him but she could hear that small hint of surprise in his voice.

"They probably died before they knew what was happening." Andrea speculated half to herself. "If they had known, you think they would have killed it first?"

He seemed confused but as he stepped forward she knew he noticed the skeleton. "Jesus, Andrea. Don't _stroke_ it."

She looked at him then, worry playing over her face. "Can you imagine what Lori's going to go through?"

Daryl shrugged. "Not my problem. But we can take some'a these clothes."

Pink. It had been a girl. He'd opened the dresser without much ado and had taken out pink clothes. Her stomach twisted again and she stepped back from the crib. It had been a girl. She had had a name. She looked at the wall again, up at the ceiling, swallowed hard, her hands crossed in front of her as if she were trying to defend herself.

"Daryl?"

"Ya?"

"How would you act if you had a son or daughter, a baby, now?" She asked, "Hypothetically?"

* * *

She hadn't asked the question to get a hypothetical answer. Daryl was blunt, not _stupid_. He turned and looked at her, no, not at her, at her stomach. And then he looked up at her face. Her face. Oh God. It was serious. How the fuck did she get pregnant? The few times they'd shared the bed—or in these cases the sleeping bag—they'd been careful, wearing condoms and whatnot. But she'd been loyal to him and everyone knew it. Unless God Himself came down and put His seed into her, if what she said was true, then she was carrying his child.

For a moment he was dumbfounded, then he leaned back on the wall by the dresser-thing. "Fuck, Andrea. I don't _know_. I leave that crap to Lori and Rick."

"Daryl," she persisted. He could see she needed encouragement but his mind was blank.

"_Fuck_." He pushed his hand through his hair, sighing so explosively that it rustled his plaid shirt. "Suppose try t' keep it alive?"

She thought for a moment and then shook her head; "What would you really do?"

Now he knew. He let the knowledge sink in. "How long?"

"Not long. Three months, less. I can't keep track of days anymore."

'"I got time t' think then. Six months." He answered curtly.

In a second, less than the blink of an eye, she was on him, her body pushing against his (comfortably but somehow it was scary) as she pinned him uncomfortably against the dresser. Her stomach was flat, he could feel that much, but a woman knew before a man anyway. Besides, what did he know about pregnant women? "No, not good enough. I need to know _now_, Daryl. Should I keep it?"

Stupefied didn't cut it. "Wha—?"

He could see the tears. They didn't overflow—he hadn't seen her cry since she'd gotten over Amy—but they were there and that alarmed him. "Can we take the chance of it maybe ending up like this one?"

"Or what?" He countered back angrily. "Kill it?"

The answer passed her lips almost like a sigh. "Yes."

"Fuck that, Andrea. Just 'cuz yer scared don't mean you can… even _Lori _didn't."

"I'm _not_ Lori. She's made for that. She's a _mother_."

He couldn't believe he was trying to talk sense into Andrea, the woman who usually talked sense into him. Maybe that baby skeleton had gotten to her. "Ever asked how she was before Carl?"

Andrea started, slightly confused it seemed. Then she stepped back and her scent, her warmth, left him. "I—no, I haven't. But…."

"Was it yer fault this baby died?" He continued, gesturing to the crib with one hand while he stepped away from the dresser. He could swear he could still feel the spots where the knobs had pressed into his back because of how hard she'd pushed.

Andrea didn't even answer this time which was answer enough. He continued. "No, t'wasn't. Whose fault was it? It's mommy and daddy's. Not yers. Yer baby'll be yer own. _Our_ baby'll be ours. We know how t' live out here."

She was staring at the crib again. He glowered at her. "Andrea. Stop."

He moved forward and caught her in his arms, the feeling so natural but also so different. She buried her head in his chest and he could feel the wetness seep through it. "Never knew ya t'cry over spilt milk."

She punched his chest once, a warning punch, and buried deeper. He consoled her for a short while but soon grew uncomfortable with the prolonged contact. It was hard for him to do this still even after all of this time with her. He kissed the top of her head before pushing her out to arm's length. She looked at him angrily and he grinned. "Tha's the Andrea I know."

She hung her head slightly and smiled. "I get it, Daryl."

"Don' think you do. We'll take it t'gether." Daryl said and released her. She caught his hand and held it. He stared at it stupidly for a moment. Looked back at her.

"You mean it, don't you?"

"You dense, Blondie?" He asked though he wasn't angry. "What I said I meant."

She smiled and dropped his hand, "Thanks, Daryl. Now, uh, let's get to packing this stuff up before Rick starts to wonder."

Andrea walked out but Daryl picked up some of the baby crap and stuffed it into a handy bag he'd found in the room's closet. They packed as much as they could carry and left more by the door. As they were walking back up the long road, he said aloud, "This don't change nothin' yet and I ain't gonna tell Rick."

She laughed as she lugged up her share, having insisted on it since five minutes wouldn't change anything. "Deal and deal. I like you better when you aren't all sappy anyway."

"Sappy, you serious?" He asked but that only got her laughing. He liked to hear her laugh.

* * *

They left the house behind, of course, but its contents still followed her in her dreams. Though they progressively turned into nightmares, she found that she was no longer as afraid of the future as she had been. Because whenever she woke up in a cold sweat, her hair drenched, her mouth unready to scream but open in a wide 'O' nonetheless, it was him next to her, holding her, kissing her until she descended once more into sleep.

And it was he who kept watch over her, loving the way she worked with the unplanned dilemma that was the baby. Loved helping her work through it. Loved that everyone was supportive when she told them. Loved that they didn't treat her differently. She was still Andrea even though her body was changing. And he'd keep his word, of course. They'd take whatever life threw at them together. As parents should.

**I admit... I probably shouldn't have written a Andryl baby fic. But I had to conform, of course. Oh well, the idea came to me so I had to write it down for you guys~**


End file.
